Semblance of Dualism
by hamaell
Summary: He takes a step towards him then, standing so close now he can hear him breathe. He raises one hand and lays it to rest lightly against L's neck, fingers playing thoughtfully with the hem of his shirt. L turns his head a studies him, but his face gives nothing away. RATED M, BECAUSE, SEX.


**Author's note:** It's been years since I last wrote fanfiction. It's been equally long, if not longer, since I last read Death Note. This story just forced its way out me last night. It is raw and unedited, there are probably all kinds of character flaws as well as literal atrocities. I don't know. And to be honest, I don't really care either. This really was just for old time's sake.

Lastly: if there's still anyone out there waiting for the end of **Healing Him** – I promise I haven't adandoned it. I know it looks like it, but I haven't. There is a concluding chapter on it's way, I just need to get my thumbs out of my arse and finish it. I do apologize profoundly for these years of waiting.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Death Note and make no material profit from this story.

 **xxx**

His footsteps echo hollowly through the empty corridor. An even sound of the heels of his shoes on the floor, moving forward in a speed that is quick but not rushed – he's in no hurry. Turning left to another empty corridor, then left again, until he reaches the elevator and he pushes the button and he waits patiently. It doesn't take long – the headquarters of the Kira Investigation Team is a building of it's time, equipped with technology he's quite certain hasn't even found it's way to neither military nor royalty yet. The double doors open silently par from the smooth _pling_ of a clock that announces it's arrival and he steps inside and turns around, facing the doors. He doesn't need to look himself in the mirror on his right, he is acutely aware of how his silken hair frames his handsome face and brings attention to his alluring eyes, how the collar of his white shirt emphisises the beautifully carved line of his jaw. A single muscle twitches a single time in annoyance at the music playing softly from speakers located in the ceiling directly above and slighty behind him. Only once, though, he schools his face quickly back into neutrally intrerested. He hates the simplicity of the tone, an average pianoplayer on an average piano. It's cheap, he's said so once and although the remark was most surely noted it was not acted upon, and it is not in his nature to repeat himself. Not that it's neccecary, of course, he suspects the music was kept only to irk him.

Yes, that definitley sounds like something he would do.

Another _pling_ and the doors open a second time, now having arrived at the chosen destination. His steps don't echo as much here, this is the main floor of the building where most of the work is done and he has to give it to him; he's gone far to decorate it into a comfortable environment. His shoes are silenced even further as he reaches the carpet just around the corner, it's a dark shade of red and contrasts nicely to the creamy walls. Large pieces of art are placed in regular intervalls on the walls; van Gogh, da Vinci, Monet, Kahlo. As beautiful as they are expensive. In the corner next to the door he's only a couple of steps away from opening is a large tree in a procelein pot the size of a small bathtub, complete with silver lion's paws as feet. The branches are covered in clusters of small, white flowers, the air is momentarily sweeter as he walks by it.

Another step and he's through the doors, entering the large are that goes by the name of "office", "centre", "workspace" and "place of ungodly hours". The wall on the other end of the room is covered in screens of all sizes, all showing more or less important parts of the building from the view of surveillance cameras. They all know they're there, but their descreetly placement helps to ignore their precence and continue going about life as normal. Or as normal as could be, all of them cooped up in here, away from family and friends and working, constanty working. Just below them there is a desk, a long desk with computers and more screens and chairs. Just above the back of one of said chairs is visible the messy strands of dark hair. _His_ hair. He walks towards it, letting is eyes inconspiciously roam the room in search of the presence of that pesky old butler. Unable to find him, that does not mean he's not there. He could be lurking in a dark corner just out of sight, or perhaps stept out of the room to acquire something for his young protegé. He reaches the desk and slides easly into the chair next to him, laying his wrists down on the armrests and twirling it a quarter of a full turn so that he faces him in profile.

He sits, as always, with his knees tucked in tighly into his chest, a thumb placed lightly between slightly parted lips, his face lit up by the unnatural light from the computer. He pays no attention to the young man's arrival, eyes scanning the screens rapidly. They sit there, for some time, one man still staring at the screens and the other staring at him. He shifts in his seat, placing one leg over the other and leaning back comfortably.

'Hello, Ryuzaki.'

'Raito.'

So alone, then. He never says his name like that when someone else is around or about to be.

'You're late. Did you forget our appointment or did you choose to ignore it?'

'My apologies.' His eyes do not wander. 'I had matters to attend to and lost track of time.'

He hardly believes that. L was never a forgetful man.

'Is that so? And what matters, if I may ask?'

L does not answer. Instead, he waves his free hand in a vague direction behind him. Raito leans slightly to the side, eyes catching the glass trolley next to L's chair, filled to the brink with dirty dishes and candy wrappers.

'I see.'

Another long moment of silence. He stares intently at the older man, wanting his attention but not wishing to says so. It takes a few minutes before L finally writes a couple of quick commands in the keyboard and then turns so that they're facing each other.

'Was there something you wanted?' he inquires with a low voice, head tilting slightly to one side, thumb only momentarily leaving his lips to allow them to form words before being brought back up again.

He studies him for a second, only dignifying himself to answer when L blinks at him.

'I was thinking,' he says, leaning back a little further in his chair and brings the fingertips on each hand to touch infront of his chest, elbows comfortably placed on the armrests, holding them there. 'I've never seen your room. That hardy seems fair, seeing as you've paid repeated visits to mine.'

He locks eyes with the other and wait's for him to reply. Both his voice and now his face give nothing away, only a statement followed by a mildly interested look on his handsome face.

'Ah.'

That's it. Nothing more. L nibbles on the edge of his thumb and studies the ceiling, the other hand now placed around his knees and the fingers tapping rythmically against the gnarly bone.

'Are you curious?', comes after a moment of silence.

'It's only a matter of justice,' he answers calmly.

'I suppose.'

He unfolds his legs and stands, Raito following suit. L puts his hands in his pockets and begings to walk, his bare feet making nearly no sound as they move him forward, and he falls in line, his back proud and straight behind the detective's hunched shoulders. An elevator ride later the step out on the top floor, an open space used as storage, with shelves upon shelves cluttered with boxes of paper, surveillance tape and notes. Raito's brow furrows in confusion; he knows L is no ordinary man but surely he's not so weird as to sleep in here?

Indeed, he is not. L's face contains a flicker of amusement when he nods to Raito to follow him to the very far off corner, where, behind a large bookshelve, there is a door. They walk through it and up a spiraling staircase, through a corridor, and then L produces a small key somewhere from the depts of his pockets and unlocks a final door, opening it with a light push of his hand and gestures for Raito to step through. He arches his brow but does as obliged, entering the room with the detective right behind him, closing the door and locking it. The room is pretty much the same size as Raito's own, maybe slightly smaller. Though that might just be a trick of the mind; unlike Raito's room –that is decorated exactly to his liking with a wardrobe with a mirror door, bookshelves and white curtains, making it impossible imagining anyone but him living there– L's room is very much impersonal, containing nearly no furniture or objects at all. The walls and a very light shade of blue with a light, almost white, wooden floor. There are no paintings or photographs on the walls, no furniture at all exept for an inconspicious, headboardless bed in the middle of the room. The wall opposite if the door is completely covered by a single, large window, measuring from ceiling to floor and wall to wall. The view is quite stunning, night-time Tokyo a lit up landscape coloured by neon signs, billboards, traffic and streetlights.

L walks up to the window, leaning his forhead against it slightly. He appears to be staring into the distance, his head tilted up slightly as if hoping to catch a veiw of the stars. Raito joins him, standing beside him but choosing not to lean against the glass, instead turning to watch the other man from the corner of his eye.

'Is it to your liking?' L asks, not looking at him.

Raito hums in approval. Though it's not an interior he would have chosen for himself, it's actually pretty much what he thought it would be. He hardly expected the room to convey anything about the great L - he would never be so careless. 'That's irrelevant. As long as it is to yours, all is well.'

'Spoken like a true diplomat. You should considering politics as a career, Raito. That silver tongue of yours would get you far.'

He takes a step towards him then, standing so close now he can hear him breathe. He raises one hand and lays it to rest lightly against L's neck, fingers playing thoughtfully with the hem of his shirt. L turns his head a studies him, but his face gives nothing away.

'You say that like it's a bad thing,' he says through a half-smile. Then he leans forward and presses his lips against L's. They are a little cold, and they hardly move, but he is patient and eventually they press back, if only just a little.

It's nothing. And everything. His fingers trailing against the neckling and up towads the jaw, the cheekbone. L's hand joins his there, fingers placed on top of his own. Neither speak but they move in unison away from the window and towards the bed. L hits the footend of it first and edges upwards towards the pillows, allowing Raito room to place his knees on either side of his hips and hover above him. His eyes, their darkness only hightened by the sleepdeprived semicirkles beneath them, studies his face without expression. He reaches a hand up and places it just above Raito's heart, the tips of his fingers cold even thought the cloth of his shirt.

'I know who you are.'

Raito smiles sweetly, chastily, before leaning down until his lips are right next to his ear. L's hand is still on his heart. 'But you can't prove it.'

An uncharacteristic chucle escapes him as long fingers move behind his back and intwine themselves in brown locks. 'Yet.'

Raito places chaste ghosts of kisses on his temple. 'Even so. What would you do, if you could prove it?' One of his hands trails down L's chest and abdomen, reaching the rougher material of his jeans and begins to undo them.

'Bring you to justice. Seeing the severity of your crimes, you'd most likely be hung.'

'Ah, but you would miss me. Miss this. You will never have anything like this again.'

'Maybe so. It does not matter.'

Oh, but it does. He knows this, because he knows L's feelings towards this, this thing they share, are just like his own. And he has never experienced a connection deep like this to anyone before. He wouldn't give it up for the world. Well, not just yet, at least. He's not ready to let L go, and he knows he other isn't ready to let him go, either. He raises his head to look at him but is met with nothing but a blank stare. That's okay. L can continue to wear that pathetic pokerface for as long as he likes – his body does not lie. Under the ministrations of his hand the soft bulge between L's thighs have started to harden and grow. He strokes it encouragingly, feeling it twitch beneath his fingers. He stops only to unzip the jeans completely and remove them, L lifting his hips to help ease them off but his face betrays nothing. Next are his own jeans, as well as L's signature white shirt. Through the moonlight shining in from the window his skin appear as if it's glowing eerily. It's beautifully pale and Raito strokes it from the collarbone, down the bony ribcage and ghosting over the hip, until returning once more to the jutting erection. Wrapping his hand around it he begins to move slowly up and down, watching the foreskin reveal the somewhat darker head where fluid is beginnig to gather. He shuffles down a little, until his face is on level with it, and leans down to take it in his mouth.

It's quite hard already. It's warmer than the rest of him too, and he's never felt L's pulse so clearly before. Somewhere above him L's breath hitches only slightly before returning to it's normal steady, though those dexterious fingers decends again to his hair. He works his mouth slowly downwards, taking more and more of the hardened flesh until it hit's the back of his throat and he has to force his gag reflex back to where it belongs. Drawing back up, he flicks the head with his tongue before going back down again, repeating the motions until his hair is fisted and dragged upwards, where L kisses him on the mouth while grabbing a hold of his own hardness, Raito sighing with relief as it has remained untouched until now. He turns his head away from the kiss tough, not liking how L's mouth tastes of sugar and tea and chocolate and ice-cream all at the same time and he tells him so, L only looking at him and then closing his eyes in understanding.

Raito can feel his pulse beating against the thin skin of his throat. He removes himself from L's hand and bends L's thighs apart with his knees as he settles between them. He puts his index and middle finger in his mouth and wets them with his saliva, bringing them then down to the tight ring of muscle behind the twitching cock in his hand and the shivering balls underneath it. He presses one of the fingers in, wiggling knuckle deep and slowly, steadily moving back and forth. L has a slight grimage on his features but says nothing, when Raito inserts a second finger his hands fists the sheet underneath him. Raito watches his face as he fingers him. For some reason, searhing the diluted pupils for signs of emotion turns him on. He doesn't find much; there are plenty signs on physical arusal and pleasured pain, yes, but he can't tell what he's feeling. That turns him on even more.

His fingers are then removed by a tight grasp and a yank of his wrist, and L nods at him as if to tell him to get a move on. He brings it up to his face and spits in his palm, then coating his own dick with the wetness. Pulling himself up into a sitting position he grabs L's hip with one hand and his erection with the other. A condom would have been nice, he thinks as the tip slowly begin to press into the other man, but he doubts there are any nearby and he doesn't care enough to go looking for one. The insertion takes time. L's muscles involontarily push him back out and it's hard to make any real progress when his body is so tense. He tries to sooth him, moving the hand on his hip to sroke gently up and down his sides and across the insides of his thighs. Eventually though, he's buried balls deep and he stops for a moment, just feeling L's body breathe around him. It's tight, hot, almost unaturally so, and L's knuckles are white from straining, the sheets still gathered in his hands. The dark eyes are open again and he has a look in then that Raito recognises as challanging.

So be it.

He pulls out slowly before pushing back in again, cautiously but growing bolder, stronger. His body has a mind of its own. Just as his eyelids drop halfway he notices that L's does too, and then he knows it's okay for him to let his body do what it wants.

It's not the best sex Raito's ever had. Not even close. L is taunt and awkward and he himself is a little unsure as well although he makes sure it doesn't show. He's only ever been with girls before and the male anotomy is still an somewhat uncovered ground, it's not the same to play with ones own body as with someone else's, but he's nothing if not adaptable. And guessing by the way L is writhing and panting, though – to his defence– still silently, he's not doing so bad.

Their coupling doesn't last very long. Raito can feel something begin to build in his lower abdomen, the thrusts of his hips growing frantic, uncontrolled and uneven. He can tell L's coming undone too, his hands have let go of the bedding and are now cluthing Raito's wrists tightly, what's left of the blunt fingernails digging into his skin. His mouth is open and his lips quiver, and just as his back arches of the bed and his head lolls back against the pillow Raito can feel it to, the burning sensation that can't keep building anymore and forces it's way out of him and L's orgasm force his muscles to tense around his cock and traps it where it is buried deep within him. His hand palms L's weeping length just in time for it to jump violently as semen pours out of it, all over his stomach.

And then he's completely done, slumping back against the bed, hands relaxed by his sides. Raito's lunges heave and he lets them for a moment before he disentangle himself from the body beneath him and bends down to lick up the mess. It doesn't taste good but not bad either, just salty, its more the consistance of it he disapproves of. But he says nothing, licking him clean and then laying down next to L's side, their arms barely touching.

'I will catch you, Raito. You will slip up, and when you do, I'll catch you, and then you'll die. You do understand that, don't you? This changes nothing.'

He doesn't reply. He doesn't even look towards L because he knows L isn't looking at him so why bother? Instead he turns his head sideways and looks out the window, the night now fully around them. He can see some lonely stars spread out on the night sky, desperately wide apart, the rest of them hidden by the fumes of the large capital. It is rare to even get a glimps of them at all and he delights momentarily in the sight.

'You keep saying that.'


End file.
